Today, while Tom is off doing whatever it is that he does (wink, wink), we are honored to welcome Grrouchie from Confessions of a Local Fish for a guest post.
And I am sorry to the sensitive...this is a VERY manly guest post and NOT for the faint of heart. You really might want to pass on this until that Egg McMuffin settles. Really, it made me heave a couple times and I write about people who find unusual ways to dispose of bodies.
You might ask why I gave Grrouchie such freedom here on my site where I recently substituted “who-who” and “hah-hah” for proper anatomical terms for human reproductive organs.
Well, I will tell you: If you are bold enough to read it, Grrouchie's guest post is going to make you feel better about the men in your lives. Heck, just reading it made me feel better about some of the “rough edges” I gave Tom...turns out, he ain't that bad!
We admit, we are all disgusting and that's yet another reason that I am not gay. Women are so nice and clean it's a wonder that you all don't turn lesbian, too.
I am going to insert some of my own thoughts throughout Grouchie's guest post.
Hello there strange audience that I usually only interact with from afar.
I wanted to start out by thanking the author of my favorite Lesbian character and my favorite fat character for allowing me into his home and the use of his furniture. I accidentally finished off the leftovers but, man-o-man, does your wife make a Mighty Fine Spamburger!!! (Splitter says: I like me some fried spam on occasion but Mrs. Splitter actually makes me take it out of the can and wash it before she will prepare it. She HATES that “gel” that surrounds the meat in a big way. And she won't eat Spam at all, it's all mine.)
I’d like to apologize to Fishducky today because Tom is noticeably absent, mentioning something to me about needing more latex gloves and hefty bags on his way out. I didn’t want any members of his fine audience to suffer. So ,“Today the role of Tom is being played by Grrouchie.”
Jen H made a special trip over to my blog, stalking Splitter I might add, and posed the question: “How can a man claim to be able to smell “peat” and “smoke” and “honey” in scotch, but apparently can’t smell a cat litter-box that needs changing?” (Splitter says: It was an awesome question! I wonder if she has the guts to read this?)
Well Jen is completely confused by a man's sense of smell (much as I am confused by the lack of a 2nd n in her name). While I am no expert in olfactory science, I feel that I can at least contribute to the answer.
To get the answer I believe that you have to look back to childhood to see the differences between boys and girls. When a girl is young she does things like plan out her future wedding with the perfect man and use an easy bake oven to bake cookies for her barbie dolls while trying to figure out how to have a fake tea party with her stuffed animals and not get her dress dirty. (Splitter says: Some never get out of that. That was Mrs. Splitter version 1.0.)
When a boy is young he is playing outside, rolling in the dirt, wrestling in the mud and generally not staying clean. I was not your typical boy growing up in-so-much-as I really didn't like getting dirty. You wouldn't find me chillin' in the sandbox or digging holes in the yard to see what kind of worms I could find, but I still played "games" with other boys my age that you'd never find a young girl playing. (Splitter says: I was one of those boys that found every mud puddle, mulch pile, and dirt patch in the neighborhood. Tide has a wing of their factory named after me.)
I made disgusting concoctions using whatever ingredient was in the fridge and I'd either drink it (if I could stomach it) or I'd hide it back in the fridge if it was truly foul and awful. (Taste, I have learned as an adult, is 100% related to smell). I also enjoyed the "guess the smell" game that was played where you would find something very stinky and when people weren't paying attention you'd put it right under their f'n nose and ask them what they thought. (Splitter says: I have always been a bit of a germaphobe and HATED this game...but every boy is required to play it.)
Usually, it ended up with a disgusted look on their face and some obscenities yelled, but it was such a fun game to play. Also, I happen to have one of the nastiest most foul smells in the known universe residing right on my being. No, I am not talking about nasty farts or anything like that. I'm talking about my Belly Button. (Splitter says: I warned you all!)
At least two people reading this can (they might not publicly admit to it though) attest to the foul and putrid scent that my belly proudly produces. I have “pear harbored” many friends with this and only some have lived to tell of the horrors. (Splitter says: At least one might admit it. It will take large gonads, though.)
I wish I could track back the origins when I realized such a nasty odor resided there and started dipping my finger deep into the crevice only to pull it out and quickly thrust it under someone's nose to watch their face contort violently. To watch them gag and dry heave and sometimes come within seconds of actually violently expelling their lunch. It is a very unnatural odor that words cannot do justice. In fact, just reading over part of this paragraph I can see at least one person familiar with it gagging a little bit. (Splitter says: There goes my granola bar. Seriously, this made me gag each time I read it.)
Oh, it's so lovely - it's like a biological weapon and I can harvest the power like a professional. (Splitter says: Everyone needs a hobby.)
You see, it's things like the above that separate the boys from the girls. To girls - it's just plain yucky. Disgusting and should never be done. (Splitter says: It ain't just the girls. I suggest a Q-Tip and rubbing alcohol to cure this condition.)
To the guys, it's a test of your manhood. Can you get your buddies to gag? To puke even? What kind of disgusting things can you do to your friends to weaken their stomach? And on the other side of the coin, what kind of stuff can you withstand that they are trying to do to you? (Splitter says: I lost this battle. You win, Grrouchie lol. I'm not much of a man.)
I think it is in these trials and tribulations that all young boys put themselves through that you will see where the sense of smell goes wrong in the male gender and why some odors that gross out the women-folk go completely unnoticed by the men-folk. (Splitter says: There is probably something to the desensitization argument. Ever been in a locker room?)
If you are a woman and reading this, raise your hand if a guy has ever farted and tried to hold your head under the blanket! That should be pretty much all of you. When our guy friends have developed a steel stomach and we can no longer gross them out, we turn to you and that's the truth. (Splitter says: Even if I was tempted to try this, Mrs. Splitter has superior weaponry and seems willing to use it. The giggle from a “Dutch Oven” is not worth my life. Plus, she has forbidden me to have gas. Seriously. It's been 6 years now...)
Myself, I have noticed over the years that any odor that comes from my body is now misinterpreted by my olfactory senses. (Splitter says: There is a condition called hypoxia where awareness is compromised by lack of oxygen. The first sign of the hypoxia is often euphoria and that's why some say that sex at altitude is better than at sea level...The Mile High Club. Eventually, hypoxia can lead to brain damage and death...I think the smelling part of Grrouchie's brain was altered by all of the noxious fumes at some point.)
Here is a very true comment. I am not making this up and I do not know the exact origins of the transformation. I have informed others of this and they all look at me like I'm a f'n retard.
When I fart, I smell French Fries. (Splitter says: This is before you have a Bic Mac meal? Wow. There could be some sort of carnival show in your future. Oh, and I am not sure we are allowed to use that other word anymore but since it just means delayed, we should get it back.)
Read that a few more times if you need to. This is 100% accurate. To me, my gas smells like French Fries. In fact I have, over the course of the years, actually gotten hungry by smelling my own farts. I have made trips to McDonald's in order to buy french fries because I developed a craving for them inhaling my own fumes. This is the type of stuff you don't just make up. (Splitter says: Even the most twisted of minds would not conceive of something like this. That's why this is real, ladies!)
However, when I point out to other people what I think my flatulence smells like, they all tell me that I'm crazy - that the truth is that I have just emitted a vile and disgusting odor and we should probably open up every window in the house and spray the place down with some Febreeze. I stand there happy as a pig in shit contemplating what I'm going to eat. (Splitter says: I will never eat French Fries again. Ever. Not even Thrashers. You ruined it for me which means that once again, you have won the man contest. That was part of your plan, though, wasn't it?)
Now, the other side of the coin is a much easier and concise answer.
How can we, as disgusting pigs of men, actually notice (note, it’s not a claim to notice, we really do notice) something like the faint smell of honey in a scotch? (Splitter says: I prefer vodka over Scotch. Good vodka tastes like liquid pepper to me and I love me some pepper.)
Well, that is simple. As stated above, we have trained ourselves on harshness. (Splitter says: This is SPARTA!!!)
We can overlook (not notice in woman speak) the smell of a cat litter box because we have been bombarded and desensitized to harsh smells all our lives. But when we open up that old bottle of scotch and take in the fumes, the gentle pleasant aroma of honey and peat permeates our senses because we are not used to something so nice, delicate and pleasant. Our body needs to take in and notice every subtle aroma while it can because you never know when your buddy is lurking around the corner with a finger that was just recently dipped in god-knows-what, ready to grab you from behind and thrust said finger under your nose and hold it there until you pass out. (Splitter says: If any guys out there are thinking of trying this on me, I cannot guarantee your safety. I gag when I do the litter box cleaning these days.)
Thanks Grrouchie! I cannot believe that you are still a bachelor.
Ladies...go hug your husbands or boyfriends right now if they have never subjected you to such nasal assaults. And the next time you are tempted to tell them what a pig they are when they leave their wet towel on the bed, just think of Grrouchie's guest post and, maybe, cut them a little slack. We treat each other much worse.
I know that some women readers might not be comfortable with the subject matter today, but I assure you that men DO act this way around each other in one form or another. We will even go so far as to put Atomic Bomb (Ben Gay on steroids) in jock straps of the unsuspecting or get creative with the use of crazy glue. Every guy participates in and is subjected to similar rights of passage in their youth and THAT is why we have fewer fights as we get older. We figure out that this stuff is only done to friends and is a sure sign of having earned one's place in the group.
It's primal. It's like slapping the bull (Wild Hogs reference) or going cow tipping when drunk on cheap booze. It's why men insult each other but don't mean it (the reverse is that women compliment each other and don't mean it...).
Tom returns next week and, by popular demand, the subject will be MANSCAPING